


I Hope You Still Want Me Around

by scatteringmyashes



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Family Dynamics, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Post-Game(s), Trans Dedue Molinaro, Trans Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25411372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes
Summary: “Dimitri, Dedue, I have something I want to say,” Zoltan, as he would be known by the time the month was done, announced one dinner.He was the heir to the Faerghan throne, the one and only child of the Molinaro-Blaiddyd family.“What is it?” Dimitri asked, putting his fork and knife down.“I’m a boy,” Zoltan told them.“Okay,” Dedue replied, unsurprised.“I want to be called Felix.”****Dimitri and Dedue's son wants to be called Felix. They have some concerns.For Trans Week: Solidarity and Mentorship
Relationships: Dedue Molinaro & Original Character(s), Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Original Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 80
Collections: Fire Emblem Trans Week 2020!





	I Hope You Still Want Me Around

**Author's Note:**

> I have had so much fun writing this, you have no idea. Zoltan is my lil' baby who's really going through it at any given point, but he's doing his best. Hopefully I'll find time to write some more with him (and his eventual siblings) because it's super fun. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

“Dimitri, Dedue, I have something I want to say,” Zoltan, as he would be known by the time the month was done, announced one dinner. 

He was the heir to the Faerghan throne, the one and only child of the Molinaro-Blaiddyd family, and he had never called Dimitri or Dedue  _ father, dad, _ or anything betraying any kind of familial relationship. The two of them were still coping with it, but had long since given up trying to convince Zoltan otherwise. 

“What is it?” Dimitri asked, putting his fork and knife down. 

“I’m a boy,” Zoltan told them. 

“Okay,” Dedue replied, unsurprised. 

There were not always signs, but for Zoltan they were multitude. He kept his coiled hair short, refused to wear dresses, and was more likely to be found in the training grounds than anywhere else. Then again, so was Ingrid and she was very happy as a woman, so neither Dedue nor Dimitri wanted to assume. 

Still, Dedue had only to share a look with his husband to affirm that Dimitri wasn’t shocked either. 

“Would you like us to call you by another name?” Dedue asked. Zoltan beamed. It was a rare sight — his teeth had a slight gap between the two front ones and Zoltan was always a bit shy about that, even though Dedue had the same. Still, Dedue could probably count on one hand the number of times Zoltan had smiled that brightly in the last month. 

“I want to be called Felix.” 

Silence. The fireplace crackled. It might have been spring, but it was still cold. 

“Can you say that again?” Dimitri said slowly, plucking words carefully out of the air. His voice was neutral, but painfully so. It was the same voice he used when a dignitary or noble wanted something that Dimitri didn’t want to give them. Dedue prayed to the gods that Zoltan didn’t recognize it. “I think I misheard.”

“I want to go by Felix. Like Uncle Felix.”

_ He gets to be Uncle but I get called Guardian, _ Dedue thought, though he kept his face blank. “Do you not think that will cause some confusion?” Dedue mentioned, hoping he sounded concerned and thinking he landed a bit closer to exasperated. 

“Well, everyone who is confused will just have to learn.” Zoltan crossed his arms. “I think it is a good name. Uncle Felix gets to go by it. He chose his own name. He told me that it’s the name of a legendary noble in the Fraldarius family line.” 

Dedue never thought that he would want to strangle Felix again, but he was feeling that itch almost twelve years after the Academy. It was irrational and passed in a moment, but it definitely had reemerged. He decided he would muse on that more later. 

“Have you asked Felix about this? Some people might not want to share their name,” Dimitri added. “I am sure there are many great nobles in the Blaiddyd line or the Molinaro line. Or we could even try to find someone in Duscur legends for you.” The  _ Anything but Felix _ wasn’t said, but it was strong enough subtext that it might have run into the dining room and thrown itself on the table. 

Zoltan stomped his feet. His fists slammed on the table, clattering the silverware. “I want to go by Felix. You and Dedue and Felix all picked your names. I get to pick my name too. You just don’t like Uncle Felix.”

“It has nothing to do with that,” Dimitri lied. “I like your Uncle. We should just ask his permission.” 

Bless him, but Dimitri had never been very good at lying. Zoltan’s eyes narrowed.

“I think I agree with your father,” Dedue said, trying to salvage the situation. “We should ask Felix first. I would not want him to be upset.” Dedue actually didn’t know how Felix would feel, but he couldn’t imagine that Felix would  _ like _ sharing his name. Zoltan seemed like he wanted to argue more, but Dedue continued, “I promise that if Felix is fine with it, you may go by Felix. But I would say this if you picked any name from someone we know. If you wanted to go by Ashe or Sylvain then we would have the same concerns.” 

“So if Felix gives his approval, you will as well?” Zoltan tentatively leaned forward. “You both promise?” 

It wasn’t something to make lightly. Dimitri and Dedue shared a look. There was no coming back from this, but was Felix Hugo Fraldarius  _ really _ going to want to share his name with their son of all people? 

“I swear,” Dimitri confirmed, nodding. He picked up his silverware. “But we are going to need a nickname until we can—” 

Zoltan stood up, heading towards the door. No,  _ bolting _ towards it. 

“Where are you going?” Dedue asked him. 

“I have to write to him!” 

“You aren’t even done with your food,” Dedue pointed out. “What’s the rule about dinner?” 

Zoltan groaned. He stomped his feet again, boots making a loud  _ thump _ against the carpet. Dedue was glad that they were eating in the private room. They didn’t have to worry about any of the servants giving Zoltan a side-eye. Still, Zoltan didn’t throw himself to the ground or scream, just marched back to his seat in a huff. He sat down and speared his steak with his knife, taking bites out of the whole piece rather than cutting it into chunks. 

Dimitri looked at Dedue, his remaining eye huge and blue. 

“If you get your shirt dirty, we’re going to have to do laundry sooner rather than later,” Dedue reminded Zoltan. He muttered something that he definitely had picked up from Felix but returned to eating with both a fork and knife. Dedue decided that he had done enough parenting and that, in the grand scheme of things, a little swearing wasn’t too bad anyways. 

Besides, there were moments where one had to choose their battles and he was going to choose as few as possible. 

#

Felix was the third person outside of Dimitri and Dedue to meet the young boy who would grow up to be Zoltan. At that time, he was going by another name, but in most other aspects he was the same. 

The first person was Mercedes, who travelled to the border of Duscur and Faerghus in order to help ensure that Zoltan was healthy enough to make the rest of the trip. She then continued into Duscur with her supplies, a lone traveller to aid those in need. 

The second person was the personal manservant of the royal family, an elderly man who had served Lambert named Jonas. According to all the stories, he was unperturbed when the young Lord Afrit — as he was refusing Dimitri and Dedue's last name, which Felix couldn't blame him for — refused to be left in a room alone with him. In fact, all the stories made the kid out to be a real terror. Nervous as all hell and, once he realized someone wouldn't hit him, seemed intent on pushing their buttons until they did. 

His fits would have been less severe, perhaps, if they were not accompanied by a very important fact. 

"What?" Felix cried, confident he must have misheard.

Dimitri nodded slowly. "Yes, he has a Crest. We haven't tested it yet, but it's clearly the same as mine." 

"How is that possible?" 

"My great-grandfather was known to, ah, sleep around and preferred those from Duscur." Dimitri blushed. Felix could have made a dry remark, but it felt like the wrong time to kick that hornet's nest. He liked to think he was more mature than he had been back in the Academy. "I can only assume that there must be some relation through that line. Crests can skip a generation, after all. And he seemed to have no idea where it came from."

"You're certain it's not a trick?" Felix clarified. 

"Yes, and so are the tables, doors, and trees that he broke when he found out." Dimitri scratched the back of his neck. "I didn't expect him to be thrilled with moving, but it's been hard for him."

"Are you surprised? You took him from everything he knows, say he's a prince, and tell him that he has a Crest that means he breaks anything he touches." Felix crossed his arms. "What do you want me to do about it?"

Relief fluttered over Dimitri's face. "Is it really that obvious?" 

"You only call me into your actual office if it's serious. Goddess knows why you think that I'm the right person to do this, but if you need me to knock some sense into the brat, I can." 

Dimitri's expression morphed into horror. "No, I — I have no idea what you're thinking, but I was hoping you could train with him a little." 

Now Felix felt confused. His swords hung on his belt and, for the first time in years, seemed to drag him down rather than provide comfort. 

"When we were children, I remember sparring with you to get rid of most of my energy. I don't think that any of the regular soldiers can train him without rank getting in the way." 

"Who trained you?" Felix asked. "It was your father and Gustave — Gilbert — right? Make one of your knights do it. I'm not a babysitter." 

"But you are the best swordsman in the world," Dimitri pointed out. If he weren't so earnest, Felix would have accused him of flattery. 

Also, Dimitri was right. Felix  _ was _ the best. That didn't mean he agreed with this hair-brained scheme. 

"Won't he need to use lances?" 

"Not necessarily." Dimitri's blush returned. "His siblings could take up Areadbhar." 

"Yes, because there are dozens of other brats running around with hidden Crests." 

Dimitri considered his options. "Maybe it is not a bad thing, the holy relics being forgotten." 

Felix stared. Dimitri stared back. With one eye, it was rather unnerving. 

"That is a conversation for another day," Dimitri conceded. "He's eight, Felix. I am not asking you to teach him miracles. Just… see if he likes using a sword. Make him run around. Maybe he'll stop seeing everyone as a threat if he can fight back." 

"Are you scared of teaching him?" Felix questioned. Dimitri shrugged. "You haven't had an… episode in a while," Felix said charitably. He only saw the more extreme breakdowns, admittedly, but he still saw more than most. He wasn't the king's right hand for nothing. 

"My father taught me by forcing me to run for miles and miles and wake up before the sun was shining. It made me into a strong warrior, but I would rather teach him how to read and ride horses in the day." 

"Oh, so I can be the bad one. I get it. I assume that's why Dedue isn't doing this." Felix rolled his eyes. "I will talk to your spawn for one hour. That is it. This is  _ not _ in my duties as a Duke." 

"Who do you think taught me how to use a sword and shield?" Dimitri drawled, his gaze dropping to the crest pin on Felix's lapel. "Rodrigue was a good teacher."

"I know he was — he was my father." Felix found himself bristling. It had been three years — fat lot of good it did for his temper, apparently. He stuck his nose in the air, the only way he could pretend to look down at Dimitri. "Where is he? Don't tell me you let him run around the castle unsupervised." 

"No, no. He should be in the library with Dedue." 

Felix found that the brat was not in the library, nor was he already in the training grounds. He wasn't in the kitchens and he wasn't in the stables. Dedue was also missing, which was the only reason Felix wasn't concerned — if someone had tried to harm the royal pain in the ass, Dedue would have ripped them limb to limb with his bare hands.

At least, Felix assumed so. Dedue didn't seem like the type to carry his axe around the castle grounds. 

Eventually, Felix went to the gardens. He could have kicked himself, because it was the obvious choice, and there they were — Dedue hunched over some flowers while a kid with braided white hair and startling blue eyes pulled violently at weeds. With eyes like those, it was easy to see where the Blaiddyd line came into play. 

They both looked up at the same time and blinked at Felix. 

"Who are you?" The kid asked, voice squeaky like any child under ten. Felix did not miss those days. 

"I am Felix. Dimitri wants me to teach you how to use a sword." Felix crossed his arms, silently challenging Dedue to argue. Things must have been bad, because Dedue just nodded. 

_ Or he and Dimitri talked about this together, _ Felix reminded himself, since normal couples actually spoke about their feelings. 

He decided not to linger on that. 

"What's your name?" Felix asked the kid, who replied. In four years, he would choose another name and then he would end up with a third name — Zoltan. 

Much like his adoptive fathers, he didn't care much for the physical form he was born with. 

"Do I have to use a sword?" Zoltan asked, squinting at Felix. He spoke Faerghan well, though he did have an accent — Felix didn't speak a word of Duscur, though, so he'd take it. "Are you even good?" 

"Felix is the best swordmaster in Fódlan. If he wants to teach you, then you could not have a better master." Dedue's approval was even more shocking than Dimitri's but Felix hoped his face did his surprise. "Do you want to go with him? Dimitri and I will still see you for dinner. Or I can watch you train with him." 

Zoltan pulled at a few flowers and then glanced at Felix. When he got no reaction, he stood up and kicked at the ground. 

"Fine, I will go to see what you want." He marched past Felix, though he kept looking back to see if Dedue was watching him. Regardless of what he saw, he did not relax. 

Felix and Dedue shared a glance, but then Felix was off to make sure Zoltan didn't get lost. He started walking the right way, throwing over his shoulder, 

"You are going the wrong way. Follow me." 

"And if I do not?" Zoltan shouted. He was on the opposite side of the hall, which was the wrong way to go. 

Felix sighed, slowing his pace but not stopping. "You can do whatever you want, but if your father gets angry with me or you, then I'll let him know who decided to run off." 

"He's not my father," Zoltan shot back, though he took a tentative step forward. "My parents are dead." 

It took every fiber of Felix's being to not respond with  _ You aren't special. _

"Then call him king or guardian or asshole. I don't care." Felix turned to look at him. "Do you want to swing around a dangerous weapon or do you want to run around like you're hiding from someone?" 

A moment passed. Behind Zoltan, a maid with laundry turned into the hall, took one glance at Duke Fraldarius, and spun right back around. 

Zoltan started to walk towards Felix. Taking that as victory, Felix kept heading towards the private training grounds. 

"If you have a Crest of Blaiddyd, you'll end up breaking a sword or two. I'll show you the best way to stop that from happening." 

"Do you have a Crest?" Zoltan asked as he jogged to catch up. 

"Yeah. Fraldarius." 

"Do you break things too?" Zoltan sounded worried. Felix wasn't quite sure how to reassure him that it was fine while also confronting the reality that Dimitri still damaged things when he wasn't careful. 

"Not much. But Crests are good for more than just that." Felix smiled, slightly. "Come on. We should get a few hours in before Dedue or Dimitri bother us." 

Zoltan had to jog to keep up with Felix's long strides, but he didn't protest. 

#

Four years before Zoltan announced his name change, Dimitri and Dedue were getting ready for bed in Fhirdiad Keep, far away from Duscur. 

"Would you want to have kids?" Dedue asked. 

Dimitri froze, his brush still stuck in his hair. His eye turned to Dedue, wide in surprise. It was something they hadn't talked about before, too busy with everything else in their lives, but they had been married for two years already. Mercedes was dropping hints about how she thought the castle would be more welcoming with children, Ingrid was making noise about needing an heir established for the crown, Ashe commented on how he'd love to help raise any royal children — and that was just among their friends. Many a lord or lady had muttered remarks where they thought Dedue couldn't hear them. 

By the gods, Dedue looked forward to the day the nobility were no longer important. Unfortunately, such reforms didn't happen overnight.

"What brought this on?" Dimitri asked cautiously, bringing Dedue back to the present. 

"I just… was thinking of the future." He gestured vaguely, leaning against the bedpost to try to look as relaxed as possible. "Not anytime soon. I understand we have much to do. Just…" 

"Do you want kids?" Dimitri replied. 

"Eventually I would," Dedue said. "I know that we are busy with reconstruction of Fódlan, but things are starting to heal. They'll never return to normal, but we are not normal either." 

Dimitri shrugged. Dedue tried to ignore the sinking sensation in his chest. He had always assumed Dimitri would want children, but had he been wrong? There were some who liked to interact with kids but not have them. After all, being a parent was a huge adjustment versus just being an adult — not to mention Dimitri was  _ king _ .

"I — I fear that I would not be a good father," Dimitri confessed. 

"Why would you think that? You are the kindest man I know," Dedue said, though he couldn't keep a frown off his face. 

"I am — I am not well." Dimitri gestured to his head. He tugged his brush out of his hair. He started swinging it around, a verisimilitude of a sword. "As king, I have — responsibilities. I could not raise a child properly, with the attention that they deserve. And it would not be fair to burden you with those tasks alone." 

"You worried about having enough time for a husband too," Dedue pointed out. He tugged on his earlobe — his wedding earring was off, but the gesture couldn't be interpreted as drawing attention to anything else. "And eventually Faerghus will be ruled by more than a king."

"Yes, but a child does not care for eventualities."

"We do not need to get a baby or a toddler, even. We could adopt someone older, someone who could be more independent," Dedue pointed out. 

Dimitri still looked pained. Dedue crossed the room, reaching out to take Dimitri's hands in his own. 

"It is okay, my love. We can discuss it at length in the future. It's not something that we must make a decision on now," he promised. "For what it is worth, I think you would be a great father."

"It isn't enough to be kind," Dimitri murmured, ducking his head. 

"But you are more than that. You are wise and strong and resilient. Anyone could look up to you and admire you." Dedue kissed Dimitri on the forehead. "I love you. One day, I would like to have a family with you. If that is this year or in five years or in ten years — I do not mind. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. That is what I know." 

"Dedue…" Dimitri chuckled lightly. "I never know what I did to deserve you. I love you too." He squeezed Dedue's hand. "It's not forever. One day I… I would like to be a father. Just not now." 

"I understand." Dedue smiled, just a little. "After our trip to Duscur, we can revisit it perhaps?" 

Dimitri nodded. "Yes, that will be fine." 

#

Reza was overjoyed to see Dedue again, if the enthusiastic wave and her wide smile was any indicator. As soon as he had dismounted his horse, she was there by his side. She commented on everything — on how he looked so much healthier, how he had grown his hair out, how his eyes were brighter. 

“You flatter me,” Dedue said. “You look radiant. Reconstruction has been going smoothly here, correct?” 

“Yes, yes. We have enough supplies and we are constantly talking with our sister villages. It is nice to reconnect with them. The main road is almost entirely repaired.” She looked away from Dedue long enough to grin at Dimitri, who was awkwardly trying to insist that he could put their horses in the stable without help to someone who looked deeply uncomfortable with that concept. “King Dimitri, please just let us serve you,” she said in lightly accented Faerghan.

Dimitri blushed. “I — You do not have to call me any titles, I promise. We are only here in the loosest of official capacities,” he swore. 

“I do not call you king because you are my king,” Reza explained, “I call you that because you have taken care of Dedue and he is of our village.” 

Now it was Dedue’s turn to cough into his fist and run the toe of his boot across the ground. Before Dimitri could stammer his way through another response, Reza just chuckled. 

“You two are perfect for one another. Now, come. Maryam is still with the children, and if we’re quick we can catch the end of afternoon lessons.” She led the two of them out of the stables. There were plenty of people who recognized Dedue — which made sense, as he had spent five years there recovering from life-threatening injuries — but even those who didn’t stopped and stared at Dimitri as they walked through the village. 

They didn’t have to recognize him as king to tell that he was from Faerghus. No one was hostile, but more curious. Dimitri still tugged his cloak a bit closer, as if that would hide his blond hair and pale skin. Even his single eye was blue wherein the people of Duscur tended towards gold, green, and brown. 

“Majid is off on a trip unfortunately, but Kamya will be joining us for dinner.” Reza adjusted her veil. A few curls stuck out from the top, but she didn’t seem all that bothered. “Since Arman is not here, I can only assume that he got lost or fell into the river.” 

Dedue snorted. “I see that he has not grown up much then?” 

“Oh, he’s grown taller,” Reza quickly said. “Emotionally? I think he’s still a teenager.” She shrugged. “He is good for some of the older children. They like having someone to look up to who also, well…” She waved a hand. “I’m sure he’ll show up once he hears you’re here.” 

“Arman is also an orphan?” Dimitri asked. Reza nodded. 

“His parents were killed in the Massacre. He has been living with us ever since we could call ourselves a village. Majid has a soft spot for him, even though he’ll never admit it.” 

“I remember you calling him little brother,” Dedue said. 

“Once or twice, perhaps,” Reza conceded. 

“More than that.” But Dedue didn’t have time to continue the conversation, because they had reached the small school. 

It really was just a large rectangular hut, the thatched roof in need of repairs and the windows covered with fabric rather than the usual shutters that would be found on most homes. The front door was open so Dedue could hear the sound of children reciting numbers even before they got close. They were saying everything in Duscur, then the teacher switched to Faerghan and they went over it again. That portion was much quieter. 

“We want everyone to speak both languages,” Reza explained. “Duscur cannot survive alone. We need to be able to talk to our neighbors, near and far, if we want to make it into the new era.” 

Dimitri nodded slowly, but he didn’t say anything. 

“It is incredible,” Dedue murmured. He peered through the doorway, staying far enough back that he wouldn’t distract any students. It was still easy to see inside. 

There were maybe twenty children of differing ages, though the oldest couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen, some holding books with others but most sitting on mats with clay tablets in front of them. There was an ancient looking tapestry hanging from the front, the kind that told the story of Duscur’s creation in its weave. 

Maryam was sitting in a chair at the front, reading from a maths book. A few children were not even pretending to pay attention, but they seemed to be moderated by their peers. Even as Dedue saw one child with long braids throw a pebble at another, the girl next to them glared hard enough that they slumped forward and seemed resigned to listening for the rest of the lesson. 

There was something charming about the scene, almost to the point where Dedue could forget that they were all orphans. 

“How are you funded?” Dimitri wondered. 

“Simply? Charity. Whatever the other villagers can spare, we receive. This orphanage serves the surrounding four villages. If they find a child, they come here.” Reza sighed. “They rarely send food or gold, of course… But we are better than nothing and rice can go a long way.”

“I will ensure that all orphanages receive proper funding. The children — do they even own more clothes? Or proper books?” Dimitri cleared his throat. “I am not attacking you — this is a marvel considering your resources. But iI had no idea that reconstruction wasn’t reaching this sort of thing.” 

Reza shrugged. “There are many things that need rebuilding. Once Duscur is more stable, then there will be a future for the children beyond this. Though I will not turn down gold for food and clothes. Winter is never pleasant.” 

Dedue could recall some memories of his childhood, could cast his mind back to when he and his sister had fought over who got the warmest blanket. There had always been enough to go around, though, and there were never more holes than could be fixed in their clothes.

He wondered what his life would be like if he had grown up in an orphanage instead of with Dimitri. The thought was cast aside almost immediately. As much as he loved Duscur and her culture and people, he could no more imagine a life without Dimitri than he could imagine one without air. 

“Faerghus will give what she can,” Dimitri swore, as if the entire continent wasn’t still recovering from the conflict that had torn the land up for five years. Three years of recovery was not enough — in private, Dedue wondered if it would ever be enough.

It had to be. There were no other options.

“All right, we’ll stop here for today,” Maryam suddenly said. A great commotion struck as twenty children all stood and made their way to the door. Dedue belatedly realized that they were standing in full view. “Remember that the dinner bell rings at seven, and we have guests so please be on your best behavior!” 

Any other words were swallowed by the trample of feet — the children all ran into the yard. half of them ignoring the adults and the other half doing their best not to get caught staring. Someone materialized a ball and started kicking it around, while several disappeared into the village. Dedue had no doubt that a few were off exploring the nearby forest. Dimitri waved at one girl who was staring, but she jumped in alarm and went to hide behind one of her friends.

Dimitri frowned. “Is it the eyepatch?” He wondered.

“I think it is the hair,” Dedue confessed. He took his husband’s hand in his, squeezing tightly. “You must understand, my love. For many of these children, their only experience with anyone from Faerghus or the Empire is… negative.”

Dimitri seemed to take in the children’s scars, the ones missing limbs or who walked awkwardly He saw the burn on one girl’s leg, the way that one boy couldn’t sit straight, the amputations that must have been done in the middle of a warzone. Many of the children were lucky to have survived with very few marks, but the less fortunate were still present and none of the children seemed to make a fuss over them. 

Three years was not enough time to heal from a five year war, after all. Not when the wounds from the Tragedy still ran so deep. 

“I understand,” Dimitri said. His eyes fell onto one child who was lurking at the edge of the crowd. 

The child kept looking around, as if waiting for someone to call, but was very much isolated from the others. The first thing Dedue noticed, however, was his bright blue eyes 

"Who is that?" Dedue asked Reza. 

"Oh?" She said his name — the one he was called at the time, but wouldn't in the future, because of course the child was Zoltan — and explained that the child was a natural loner who seemed to push the other children away. "I believe that the entire village was wiped out by plague and famine during the war. But we haven't gotten much more than that out of him." 

Dedue nodded, eyes returning to Dimitri. "Did you want to talk to any of the children?" 

Before he could respond, the ball came flying towards their group. Instinctively, Dimitri caught it. The group of playing kids all ground to a halt, eyes on the stranger. 

"Good throw," Dimitri said. He tossed it gently towards one of the older boys. "Be careful, though. You don't want to lose an eye." 

Several of the kids laughed and it was as if the tension was gone. Dimitri waded into the group, trying to learn the complex ball game. When Dedue looked, Zoltan was gone. 

#

_ Dear Duke Fraldarius, _

_ I hope that this letter finds you and Margrave Gautier well. We are safe and looking forward to the end of the spring floods. The reports have said that Fraldarius has been doing well, which I am glad to hear of.  _

_ I know that this is your off season where you spend time with your husband and territory, so I apologize for disturbing your peace. I would not write if it were not critical. Please read the entirety of this correspondence. I leave no detail unturned.  _

_ My child has come out as one of us. Like you and I — as well as Dedue and several other of our friends, and really it's starting to become humorous how many of us there are, perhaps the Professor had a way of finding who would be like us or at least similar, but I digress — he has announced that he is a boy. For the time being, he has agreed to go by his nickname Blue. His final name has not been determined yet.  _

_ The reason I bring this to your notice is because he would like to be called Felix. He feels that it is a tribute to you.  _

_ My darling husband, Dedue, has told him that we will ask you first. If he has your permission, then we will continue with his name of choice.  _

_ I am sure that you understand why I am concerned.  _

_ Do not misunderstand me. You have a very good name! I think that Felix is completely fine. It's a family name, apparently. The name of one of your ancient ancestors who was also good at using swords. Blue will not stop telling us about it. But I think that it is a Fraldarius name and not a Baliddyd one or a Molinaro one. Or, even, a Molinaro-Baliddyd name.  _

_ Please write back with your opinion on this situation. Blue looks forward to hearing from you. Per his request, I have also included his letter. If you were to write to him directly, I know that would please him greatly.  _

_ Regardless, thank you for your time. Please tell Sylvain that he has my regards. You are both welcome to visit at any time. Just send word. I'm sure that Blue will be thrilled.  _

_ Your friend, _

_ Dimitri Alexandre Molinaro-Blaiddyd _

#

Dedue was trying to convince Zoltan that there were benefits to reading history books when Jonas, the ever-present manservant, entered with a loud knock and a louder clearing of his throat. 

"Hello, Lord Molinaro, young master Afrit. There is a visitor here for you." Jonas tapped his heels together. Zoltan — who was going by the name Blue until further notice — glared at him. Bless the man, because he didn't bat an eye. 

"Who?" Zoltan snapped. "I'm reading." As if he was paying attention rather than arguing with Dedue about the point of lessons. 

"It is Duke Fraldarius." Jonas hardly finished the sentence before Zoltan jumped to his feet. He was in a good mood because he didn't try tossing the book aside and just left it on the table. 

Dedue frowned in surprise. "Where is Duke Fraldarius?" He asked Jonas. 

"He said he would wait in the third chamber."

With thanks, Dedue followed Zoltan. When Zoltan inevitably paused, realizing he didn't know where Felix was, Dedue caught up. He placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. 

"This is why we ask before we run off." 

Zoltan pushed his hand away, glaring up at Dedue. 

"Fine. Where's Felix?" He asked. 

"I will show you where he is." Dedue held a hand out, but Zoltan hadn't held his hand when he was eight and he certainly wasn't going to do it now. Shrugging, Dedue walked to the third chamber room. 

They arrived a few minutes later. The door was open and Felix was standing there in his riding gear, cloak still dirty with mud. Zoltan ran in, jumping up and down the last few feet. 

"Uncle Felix! You did arrive! You got my letter and you came to talk to Dedue and Dimitri directly about how ridiculous they are acting, did you not?" He skid to a stop in front of Felix. 

It hit Dedue, much like a hammer hitting a brick wall, that Zoltan was almost as tall as Felix. This was not lost on Felix if the twitch in his lips was anything to go by. 

"Dedue, let his Majesty know that I am training Blue." Felix's face was blank. Dedue knew that he could trust him though, because he only called Dimitri by his title when things were serious. "Come on, Blue. I need to make sure that your swordsmanship has not been going foul without my presence." 

"It has not! I have been practicing every moment that my guardians will let me. I have not been breaking anything either, not even my needles, which Mercedes is very happy with," Zoltan babbled, following Felix out of the room. 

A deep breath left Dedue's lungs once he was alone. He tried to calm himself, taking to pacing the room and returning the furniture that Felix had moved to their proper places. It was not that he didn't trust Felix with his son. It was more that he did not trust Felix with his son's emotions. How  _ Felix _ of all people had wormed his way into Zoltan's good graces, into his admiration, was a mystery for the gods. 

_ It will be fine, _ Dedue thought.  _ Felix is not seventeen anymore. He knows better. _ But Dedue wasn't sure. 

He knew where Dimitri would be, but he also knew that Dimitri was already busy discussing the current effects of flooding to the Galatea region. While Dimitri would say that his son was more important and Dedue would agree, this was something Dedue should be able to handle himself. He was Zoltan's father as much as Dimitri was and he should act like it. 

Sometimes that meant trusting that Zoltan would be safe without him present. 

Dedue found himself walking to his private garden, one tucked away in the bowels of the personal quarters. It was more practical than one would have expected, with herbs and healing plants more so than attractive ones. Then again, Dedue thought that there was little more beautiful to see than a healthy bush of rosemary or a tall and green basil plant. 

It was not exactly lush, considering the last snows were barely a fortnight ago, but it was getting there. Soon the green would return — Dedue could already see the start of shoots piercing the dirt. 

He hoped that they would come soon.

#

Felix was breathing heavily when he and Zoltan took a break. His riding cloak and jacket had long been discarded, crumbled on a bench somewhere. His sword belt was thrown over a fence, live steel blades safely away from the spar. Faerghan or not, Felix had enough sense to know that it was a bad idea to fight using real swords. 

Today, Zoltan hadn't broken a single sword but his form also hadn't been up to par. Felix had scored hit after hit without too much effort, eventually handicapping himself by switching to his non-dominate hand and trying to only disarm Zoltan rather than land a blow. 

Even with wooden swords there were still going to be bruises all up Zoltan's torso, but the kid didn't seem too upset by it. None of them were that bad, Felix reasoned, and he'd make sure that a healer saw to him before dinner. 

The two of them sat down on a bench, cups of water in their hands. 

"You did good," Felix said, reaching out to ruffle Zoltan's hair. 

Zoltan scowled. "I barely hit you at all," he whined. 

"Yeah, but you also haven't been training  _ that _ much, have you?" Felix smiled. He held out one arm which had a fat yellow mark the perfect size of Zoltan's practice sword. "You hit me once. That is more than some could say." 

Zoltan shrugged and sipped at his water. He kicked at the ground, some dust flying up. He didn't apologize. Felix didn't expect him to. 

Felix pointed to his swords, which were on the other side of the room. "Go get my swords. I want to show you something." 

It said a lot that Zoltan jumped to his feet to accomplish the task, careful not to snap anything in his eagerness to return to Felix. 

"Did you bring something for me?" Zoltan asked, because he was still twelve and naturally thought presents were the best sign of affection. 

"Maybe, but I'm not giving you anything right now. We should talk first." 

Zoltan's face crumpled. "You hate my name," he said. "You think I am a fool and pathetic."

"No." Felix pulled his finest sword out. The blade gleamed in the sunlight. "Do you see this sword? Do you know what it is?" 

"Yeah." Zoltan reached out, hand hovering several inches above the steel. "It's a sword of Zoltan. The best blade in the world." His voice held a proper dose of respect and awe. Felix felt his smile grow. "Can I touch it?" Zoltan looked up at Felix with wide eyes. 

Felix considered him closely. 

"Let me tell you something about swords first," he decided. Zoltan nodded eagerly. "This was made by the best swordsmith in Fódlan, a smith who only made twenty swords like this. That is what makes it so special — there is almost nothing like it in the entire world. And that's also what makes it so effective. Zoltan knew better than to continue the same mold and risk the outcome falling in quality. Oh, people have studied his blades. They make copies and replicas all the time. But they're never as good as the original. This was a gift from my father. It cost more than a whole herd of Gautier horses."

"Whoa." Zoltan's eyes were huge as he looked at Felix, but his point wasn't done. 

"A good smith will only use a mold a few times before discarding it," Felix continued. "I am not talking about horseshoes or hammers. Those don't matter as long as they are sturdy. But a sword that cuts cleanly and has a good weight? That takes skill. A custom blade is more expensive but you'll get a hundred more fights out of it than something you get for ten gold at the market. And when you have a Crest — whether it be Blaiddyd or Fraldarius or whatever — then you need something that will live up to that." 

The smile on Felix's face twisted into something sour. Zoltan slunked back and Felix forced himself to return to his usual scowl, an expression Zoltan was used to. 

"The Crests system begets violence. Dimitri can talk about peace and reform all he wants, but I'm not fool enough to think it'll last. When the time comes, I intend on making sure that I am safe." He found his face relaxing, eyebrows drooping as he looked at Zoltan. "Me and the people I care about. But enough on that." 

Felix cleared his throat. He sheathed the blade, more out of want to do something with his hands and a general displeasure for fidgeting than anything else. 

"I don't care what you call yourself. But if you go by Felix, then everyone is going to compare you to me. It doesn't matter what you do or what you say. It doesn't even matter that you are the crown prince. You call yourself Felix and you don't have to get compared to Dimitri — you'll get compared to me. Do you want that?" Felix asked. 

Zoltan's face fell. He looked away, glaring at the ground. 

"I knew that you thought I was stupid," he muttered. He stood, pushing the fence that lined the grounds. His Crest flashed up and the wood splintered, one post ripped up from the ground and shooting dirt everywhere. Felix got to his feet, though he didn't interfere yet. "I am just a fool! I hate you. I hate all of you. I know that you just want to drop me back off in Duscur so you can get rid of me." 

Felix watched Zoltan pull the fence up, splinters digging into his hands. Before Felix could speak, Zoltan threw the fragments aside. Several pieces from past Felix and he frowned as he dodged to the side. Zoltan glared at him. 

"Say something! Tell me how you really feel," Zoltan screamed. 

"I do not think you are stupid. I think you deserve better than to live in the shadow of someone else." Felix found himself running his thumb over the pommel of his sword. "I am flattered you want to pay respect to me, but there are better ways to do it. Become the best swordmaster, even better than me, and then you will honor me and your guardians more than a name ever could." 

Zoltan's chest was heaving with effort as he shook his head. "I do not believe you. You're — you're lying!" He rubbed at his face. 

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't lie." Felix crossed his arms. "You're a smart kid, Blue. Don't insult my or your intelligence by acting otherwise." He held out a hand. Zoltan looked at it with a scrunched up nose. 

Felix waited. Zoltan started inching closer. Then, carefully, he took Felix's hand and shook it. Felix smiled. 

"Whatever name you pick, I will use it. Just think about it, kid. Don't make a mistake." He smirked. "Though, knowing your guardians they'll let you change it any number of times." 

Zoltan let out a choked laugh. "They let me get away with a lot," he agreed. He tucked his hands under his armpits. "I hate this," he muttered. 

"Yeah. It sucks." 

"Are you sure you don't hate me?" 

"Pretty sure." Felix pulled his sword out. "Do you want to hold it?" 

Zoltan's eyes went wide. He reached out but stopped. "What if I break it?" 

"I don't think you will." Felix kept himself calm as Zoltan took the sword in hand, fingers trembling as he wrapped them around the hilt. There was a look in his eyes and Felix wondered if he had misjudged this. 

He knew Zoltan better than Dimitri, sometimes, or maybe he was less naïve about the demons in Zoltan's head. For a moment, Felix was certain Zoltan would snap the sword on purpose, would test Felix and see whether he actually meant what he said. 

Then Zoltan held this sword back out to Felix. 

"One day, I am going to beat you and I am going to take your sword as my prize," Zoltan swore. 

Felix laughed, putting the blade back. "If you can ever beat me in a formal duel, I will gladly give you the sword." He took Zoltan's shoulder in hand and squeezed lightly. "Come on. Let's get you seen by a healer." 

Zoltan nodded. He didn't hug Felix, but that was okay. Felix understood. 

"You know what makes me such a good swordmaster?" Felix asked as they walked back into the castle. Zoltan shook his head. "I eat all of my vegetables." 

"No!" 

#

_ Dear Duke Fraldarius, _

_ Firstly, let me thank you for your timely visit. I enjoyed your presence greatly and I know that It was appreciated by the other members of the castle.  _

_ Still, I am unsurprised that you were eager to return to Fraldarius territory and, furthermore, we will soon see each other so much that we will be sick of one another. I would state that I jest, but I do not think you would find it funny.  _

_ Regardless, I also wanted to thank you for talking with my son. He is in better spirits and has announced that he will gladly eat all of his vegetables? I am uncertain why, but whatever you said, may the Goddess bless you. There are fewer fights at dinner now.  _

_ I'm writing for more than gratifying your ego, however. I will send official notice soon, but my son has decided on his new name.  _

_ He will now be known as Zoltan Blue Molinaro Blaiddyd Afrit. Or, in short, Zoltan.  _

_ We have decided to agree to his demands.  _

_ Your friend, _

_ Dimitri Alexandre Molinaro-Blaiddyd _

#

_ To his Majesty the King, Dimitri Alexandre Molinaro-Blaiddyd, _

_ You're welcome. _

_ — Felix H. Fraldarius-Gautier  _

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ashes8012)!


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